The Holocene Complex
by TheHoloceneComplex
Summary: Buried deep in the mountains of Central Asia, freed from all governmental restraints, the shadowy InGen corporation created a fool's paradise of illegal genetic experimentation. Now, on the verge of the project's twisted culmination, a group of strangers are each invited to witness an event that will forever change the face of science.
1. Chapter 1: Crosswind

**Chapter One: Crosswind**

The Antonov circled lazily overhead like a bird, its hulking form wheeling back and forth in the crosswind. Indeed, against the grey bulkhead of sky, the white and blue of its livery seemed like the plumage of some exotic parrot. Mehmed Al-Saud watched the aircraft from control tower intently, his powerful gaze fixed, unblinking. As he stared, it made another pass overhead, lower than ever. Its huge frame was shuddering against the wind.

"Why aren't they landing?"

"The crosswind is too high." The Air Traffic Controller didn't look up from his work as he addressed Mehmed, consumed by the intricacies of landing the enormous aircraft on such a small runway.

"How long?"

"Within the next ten minutes, hopefully. We're just waiting for a gap in the wind."

Losing the Antonov once more in the cloud, Mehmed moved on, eyes hungrily prowling across the rain-speckled glass for any other point of interest to observe. Eventually, they settled on the bright worm of orange that flickered and danced across the runway. The windsock confirmed what the Controller has said, as it was torn unrelentingly by the fearsome gusts that rolled in across the mountainside.

"I want them on the ground now. We aren't waiting any longer."

Mehmed's decision was a calculated one. He was no fool; it was clear to him that the wind made any attempt at landing an unforgiving task. However, he held the pilots in utmost regards. His advisor, Mr Ross, had picked the men by hand, and Ross was very rarely _wrong_ about people.

In actuality, although Mehmed would not admit it, his anxiousness to get the plane on the ground stemmed not from confidence in its pilots, but a terrible reverence for its cargo. He had seen first-hand what the thing in the cargo hold was capable of, and it had put the fear of God into him.

The Air Traffic Controlled didn't argue. He gave a curt, controlled nod, and hailed the Antonov over the howling airwaves.

Rain slicked the runway, turning it from concrete to black ice. As the wheels of the Antonov slammed down, it kicked up huge clouds of white spray. The screech of metal on metal called out over the wind, the sound of the aircraft's brakes vainly trying to rein the mass of steel into control. The wind caught the craft, as it swerved and fishtailed towards the end of the runway. Moments before the concrete ran out, the aircraft finally screamed to a shuddering halt. Despite himself, Mehmed gave a deep relieved breath from his view on high in the aircraft control tower.

"Who's the idiot who wanted us to come down in that? We had a crosswind of sixty!" Mehmed brushed of the pilot, a Scot with a foul mouth and an even worse temper, and stared up at the darkened maw of the aircraft's cargo hold. Somewhere within, the rustle of movement and the flickering of shadows betrayed the presence of the cargo.

"Shush." He silenced the pilot, cocking his head as he did, intent on catching every slightest noise that the creature within made. In the darkness, a pair of jade eyes flashed, and just for a moment, for the slightest fraction of a second, Mehmed could feel the raw fury of the beast. "Lights. Lights!"

Someone, somewhere heard the order, because no sooner had Mehmed barked it out, it was obeyed. Enormous floodlights set into the roof of the cargo hold burst on, piercing white illuminating the heavy bars of the cage, and beyond that, the animal, in all its primal glory. Infuriated by the stress of the plane journey, and this painful new stimuli, the animal sprung the bars of the cage with all its might. The power of tooth and claw, however, was nothing compared to the composite alloy bars of the cage, no matter how much the animal threw itself at them.

"It's beautiful." Mehmed whispered, to the quickly gathering crowd of hangar technicians. As he did so, the animal threw back its head, and in a rage-fuelled display of ancient power, it roared.


	2. Chapter 2: The American

**Chapter Two: The American**

"Are you Treholt?" The American mangled the name, but he made up for it with a handsome smile and a quickly extended hand. Finn took the hand cautiously, as he eyed the cut of the man's suit. It was expensive, there was little doubt of that, but the wide lapels and heavy shoulders looked more European than anything from across the Atlantic. However, if the American's attire seemed continental, his accent more than made up for it. He spoke with a deep gasoline twang that reeked of the rustic south. When Finn nodded a speechless affirmative, the American put his impressive voice to use once again. "Great to meet you Mr Treholt. The name's Ross. Aaron Ross."

"Good morning Mr. Ross." Treholt managed eventually, stunned by the sudden appearance of the well-dressed foreigner. The man seemed inscrutable, as Treholt attempted to discern some sliver of meaning behind his charcoal eyes. "Take a seat."

Ross looked up at the darkened lecture hall, a smirk playing across his lips. Still, he remained motionless, instead choosing to stare up knowingly at the space for a few seconds longer.

"So what can I be doing for you?"

"Straight down to business then Mr Treholt? Well, I'm sure you're a busy man."

"I am."

"I won't waste much of your time then. To put it as plainly as I can, I represent an international bio-engineering firm, International Genetic Technologies Incorporated, and we wish to make you aware of an opening for a position at one of our research facilities."

"International Genetic Technologies?"

"The InGen Corporation, if you will. You may have heard of us."

"I have. Several of my colleagues sit on your advisory board."

"Well, we recruit the best."

"Indeed."

"Would you like to hear the nature of the opening?"

"No." Finn paused, and looked up at the American. Upon seeing the man's aghast face, he hastened to add "Thank you."

"No?"

"I'm not interested. Thank you for the opportunity, I hope you have luck finding someone to fill the opening."

"You're not interested? Come on, you haven't even heard what I had to say."

"I don't need to."

"Just hear me out."

"I have a lot to do Mr Ross. Please see yourself out."

"I assure Mr Treholt, if it's a matter of money, we won't be outbid. Name your price."

"It's not a matter of money."

"Mr Treholt, I'm not going to take no for an answer."

"Why not? There are plenty of kids twice as qualified as me who'd jump for an opportunity like this. Let me put you in touch with-"

"We want you."

"Why?! I'm a teacher."

"Our lead bio-engineer asked for you by name."

"Who is your lead bio-engineer?"

"Yuko Hoelscher. I believe you know her."

The silence that followed was confirmation enough, as Treholt let the name sink in. He chose his next words very carefully.

"Miss Hoelscher asked for _me?_ "

"Yes. By name _. It's Finn Treholt or nobody_ , she said."

"What-" Treholt paused, to take a deep breath. It seemed impossible to him, how suddenly things had changed. Eventually, to the amusement of Ross, he continued. "What exactly is the nature of the position?"

"I'm glad you asked. You'll be working with Miss Hoelscher as Second Geneticist."

"Second Geneticist for what?"

"I'm no expert Mr Treholt, you must understand. So everything I tell you will be from a layman's perspective."

"I understand that."

"From what I can understand, Mr Hoelscher is working on patching, so to speak, partially sequenced genomes."

"I see."

"Look, tell you what. You need some time to think about this, I get that. So I'll give you the number you can contact Miss Hoelscher at. She'll answer any questions you have." Ross revealed a black business card with a magician's flourish, and flicked it to Treholt. On one side, a silver embossed phone number was proceeded by an international calling code Treholt didn't recognize; _+996_. He flipped it over, to find nothing but the silver and blue logo of International Genetic Technologies Incorporated, or as the logo read, InGen.


End file.
